


Outliers

by delirias



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drinking, F/M, Greta is out there for blood unless someone stops her, James is a cheeky bastard, Marauders, Muggle AU, Peter is obviously oblivious, Recreational Drug Use, Remus is wise as ever, Sirius is quite the charmer, Steamy things ensue or whatever, Tutoring, University AU, coffee shop AU, doughnut appreciation fic, gryffindor-slytherin friendship is so ugh, hope you find the HP easter eggs here and there, i don't even just really not sure what is happening sometimes it gets out of hand, i really try to write i'm sorry, i'm not really sure where this is going so i'll figure it out as i go along, lacie is ravenpuff, snarky possibly could be Slytherin girl storms into Sirius' life and it's quite a ride, sneaky canon references but with a twist i guess, some serious witch hunting is about to go down, the gryffindors are actually afraid of something or someone
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-20
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2018-12-31 22:32:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12142542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delirias/pseuds/delirias
Summary: Greta Blackburn was never one for sleepovers. How she ended up dragon-breathed and visibly fucked in Sirius Black’s flat was one mystery she’d like to reluctantly solve. Or whatever.(Modern muggle!university AU)(Undergoing a major re-write)





	1. Or whatever

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I'm doing a major re-write of Outliers so I hope it'll be better this time around.

Greta Blackburn wishes for a lot of things. She wishes her knack for mixing downers with alcohol ( _double downers_ , her best friend Lacie Parker would say) didn’t make her vomit her insides out but alas, it’s how things are.   
To achieve a certain level of zen, Greta needed just the right mix. Ten shots to a fourth of a tablet. Ten bloody shots of brandy laced with cheap cinnamon. _It’s not that bad if you don’t think too much about it,_ Greta caught herself explaining to Lacie her choice of poison time and time again.   
Having said this, Greta wished she chose a classier taste in liquor but with her bills and rent to pay, really bad brandy with sub-par spices was all that she could afford.   
The next question lies on how she got the downers anyway. She nicks them from her roommate, Priscilla Waters, who leaves her medication lying around.

Not so long ago, Greta was piss drunk, aimlessly looking for an Advil when she stumbled on a crisscrossed tablet on the kitchen table (or was it the medicine cabinet above the sink?). And the rest was history. At least, the fragments that she remembers of it. 

* * *

  
Greta Blackburn wishes people would understand. One thing that irks her is when an inconsiderate person would barrage her with nonsense before she was awake. Mind you, she would already be dressed and made up but not a single drop of coffee was to be found in her system.   
She would haphazardly walk to the nearest (preferably, very affordable) coffee shop, get her Americano and face the day with determination. At least, that’s how she pictured it.   
She demanded respect from those around her about her No Coffee, No Greta rule. Simply put, you can’t get Greta Blackburn to do shit if a single drop of caffeine was missing from her body.   
Unfortunately, as reality would put it, not everyone was knowledgeable of the No Coffee, No Greta rule.   
So when some git asks her to pass him _some Stevia, not Splenda nor that white sugar shit,_ she was ready for cold bloody murder right there and then in the yellow-lit hipster third-wave coffee shop.   
“For the love of god, get it yourself you stinking-,’’ She was about to go full-on with her lashing out when she noticed the said git was well, somewhat close to beautiful. Or whatever.   
Without missing a beat, the beautiful-or-whatever git replied, “For your information, lovely miss, I showered this morning. It’s patchouli.”   
For some reason, Greta’s brain was knocked off-balance. Maybe his face was a bit too chiseled (oh, that jaw – that bloody freaking jaw), or his cocky man-bun of jet-black hair or shit, whatever the fuck is patchouli?   
“Whatever. You still stink and get your sugar yourself,” Greta always had the last say and with that, she stomped her way from the coffee shop that seemed too small now that the git occupied the same space as she did. 

* * *

  
Funnily enough, Greta was never late for her classes in university. She’d like to thank the coffee for that.   
She’d power walk her way through ten blocks (or more, depending on which coffee shop she chose that day) and would sit in the middle T-Zone of each class she was in.   
You see, Greta values the T-Zone of learning very much. The theory states that the most learning a student could get is if the student is seated in the T-Zone – the front and right across the middle of the lecture hall, in the direct line of sight of the professor.   
Greta didn’t bother with going away from her beloved T-Zone because well, the T-Zone is the key to her funding her scholarship.   
There are two things Greta Blackburn values in life: first, is a good shag and second, it’s making sure her grades touched the sky.   
So when a certain git sits at the very front and middle (the star seat, Greta would call it), she was aghast. Or whatever.   
He’s just a git in a coffee shop who happened to be in her Introductory Economics class.   
No. Big. Deal.   
//   
Professor Nickletwerp was somewhere between a raging monster on steroids and a raging monster on insane amounts of Coca-Cola. The second assumption was because he never started a class without a can of Coke on his table. By the end of the class, he’d crush the tin can, give their homework and reading list, and on good days, he won’t shout at the latecomers before they left the room. Why he does it at the end of the class, Greta didn’t know and won’t really bother knowing. It was just amusing seeing him turn tomato-red with rage and calmly dismiss them with, “See you tomorrow, you insufferable lot.”

Greta was having a bit of difficulty with the graphs but she was too proud to admit it to anyone. _Jesus, it’s just a supply and demand curve. Come on, Greta! Pull your tiny head together!_

Greta wishes she wasn’t too hard on herself. But she’s read the first few chapters of their Economics book and she’s pretty sure what she’s missing is the easy stuff. Easy stuff. How _pathetic_.

“Your graphs are wrong.”

A tall shadow obscured her view of her notebook.

“Excuse me?” Greta looks up and she sees _him._ How dare he look at her notes without asking?

“It’s fairly easy, you know. Some factor affects supply or some factor affects demand, some movement then an easy, straightforward graph.”

Greta starts to purse her lips. He was unnerving and possibly, very insulting.

“Well, my graphs aren’t your problem so bugger off.” She starts to angrily put her things into her backpack.

“It could be. I could tutor you.” He says the last sentence with a confident grin.

“How about…” She pretends to stroke her chin in thought. “ _No_.”

Then she marches angrily from the classroom, embarrassed or whatever.

* * *

 

“Please say your day is going better than mine.”

Lunch break always meant Greta had time to catch up with Lacie Parker who was far smarter than she was and was at the top of their class. She might as well give the valedictory speech now than wait two more years for it. For simplicity’s sake, Lacie Parker was the girl your grandmother was proud you were friends with. And for Greta Blackburn, not a lot of things impressed her nan but Lacie Parker did. Lacie Parker impresses everyone.

Lacie had platinum blonde hair (she claims it’s natural, Greta might as well believe her) and steel gray eyes. She was also a tiny little thing. How such a brilliance can fit in such a petite figure, Greta could only guess.

“Well, there’s nothing much that happened today except for that one time I saw this really dreamy guy in the hallway. Oh wait! There he is! Look!”

Greta had to stop Lacie from pointing at - well, damn. It was the Patchouli guy from the coffee shop.

“Oh shit.”

“What? You don’t think he’s an angel?”

“That he fell from the heavens? Well, he might as well be Lucifer reincarnated.”

Lacie widened her eyes in shock. Greta wonders why Lacie even puts up with her perpetual sour mood.

“What did that guy ever do to you?”

Greta gave a sly smile. “He’s annoying and conceited. Trust me on this. Best to stay away. The man-bun is a clear warning.”

Lacie gave a confused look at Greta, looking for an explanation but all Greta did was take a bite from her sandwich and glare at Patchouli guy who was surrounded by three other guys who were probably from their year, too.

_Wow, he even has friends. Pity._

* * *

 

The next day wasn’t any better.

Patchouli guy was waiting for Greta at the coffee shop and before she could even shrug him off he handed a coffee cup to her.

“Americano. _Black_. You’re welcome.”

“Can you stop that?”

Patchouli guy straightened up from where he was leaning against the wall. “Stop what? Being devilishly handsome and making you swoon?”

“Gross. What have you got in that pig head of yours?”

He smirked. “Best drink your coffee to lighten up the mood, Greta.”

Greta nearly spat out her drink. “How did you know my name, you stalker?”

“Your notebook has the name Greta Blackburn in bold. Doesn’t take Sherlock Holmes to read that.”

She was just about done with this conversation, even if the coffee was just starting to kick in. Maybe the rule No Coffee, No Greta has exceptions.

“I’m Sirius,” He said it with practiced confidence. Like she was supposed to know his name already or something. “My offer to tutor you still stands, among other things.”

With that, he winked at her and walked away without a second glance, leaving Greta fuming and maybe just a little bit flattered that he knew her name.

* * *

 

They had a dreadful quiz that day in Introductory Economics.

Sure, Greta knew all about land, labor, and capital as well as rent, wages, and profit. She sure as hell knew the _theory_ of supply and demand but as the factors increased, she saw herself sinking in her seat in a cold sweat.

It didn’t help that Sirius was directly in her line of sight and he boastfully turned his paper in first.

As he passed his paper, he gave a smirk at her direction much to her derision. Damn, why was she even looking?

She was one of the last students to turn her paper in and much to her dismay, that always meant no good.

Another sign of her day worsening was Sirius waiting for her outside their classroom.

“Tut, tut. Last to turn in? Greta, you’re losing your touch. But you know, you can touch me instead while I tutor you.”

Greta stopped in her tracks and glared at him.

“Tut, tut,” She replied. “Oh Sirius, is that the best you’ve got?” She rushed across the hallway without a second glance. Laughter from Sirius’ friends echoed as she stepped out of the building.

* * *

 

The week passed by as dreadfully as it came.

By Friday, Greta found her way to the supermarket to replenish her stash of awful liquor when she bumped into the messy haired boy with the hipster glasses that always hung out with Sirius.

“Oy, James! We need more Stoli!” Sirius’ voice rang out from the aisle next to theirs.

“James! Stoli and more of that shit Peter likes - the one with the cinnamon.” Greta could hear a murmur of approval from the lanky boy called Peter. He seemed to shrink compared to the sullen-faced sickly looking friend of theirs who by no surprise, was quite good-looking as well.

“James! James, the liquor won’t find itself in our trolley if you don’t - oh, hello there. What have we got here?” Darn lizard guts, he saw her.

“Oy, Peter! She likes the same shit as you do!”

Almost like clockwork, Peter and Remus (she overheard James telling him that he didn’t look too well to drink), appeared beside James and Sirius.

“Good taste in liquor,” Peter quipped, seemingly pleased that someone else appreciated his favourite drink. “Shots, I suppose?”

“No other way.” Greta found herself replying without thinking first. She didn’t want to associate herself with these weasels much less talk about liquor with them.

“Got any plans tonight, pretty miss?” Sirius snaked his arm around her shoulders which Greta tried to shrug off but to no avail.

She raised the bottle of brandy, “Shots. Lots of them then who knows what comes next?” Actually, she did know. She’ll be spending the night with a double downer and sleep until 1 o’clock in the afternoon the next day.

“Mmm, how about this - since you and Peter like the same _shit_ -,” (“It’s not shit, Sirius! It’s brandy with a cinnamon aftertaste! It’s spicy goodness!”), “you might as well join us for some welcome drinks.”

Remus piped in, “And who are we welcoming, Sirius?”

“Greta, of course! She’s been such a doll this whole week, hasn’t she?” He flashed her a toothy grin, the kind that needed to be punched off such a beautiful face. Or whatever.

“Do come, Greta! I always drink the liquor alone since no one seems to like it. Shots! They’re meant for shots, James!”

At that moment, James started to imitate what appeared to be a drunken Peter.

The din on the aisle caused by the four boys was deafening and all Greta wanted was to get her liquor in peace and double down the evening. But for some reason, she was pretty inclined to go with them.

With a sigh, she put down her bottle of liquor in their trolley. “Best to buy me pizza if you’re kidnapping me for the night.”

Sirius punched a fist into the air and said, “That’s the spirit, doll! That’s the spirit!”

* * *

 

It was safe to say that Sirius was pretty fucking loaded. His flat was all glass, white, and obviously very expensive. Greta could see her reflection on the floor-to-ceiling glass window. Her dark brown hair was struggling to get away from the bun she hastily put it in. Her lounge pants and jumper were obviously _(not)_ attractive. She was just going to the supermarket after all.

As the night wore on, the drunker they all became, Greta noted how much she missed getting sloshed without a pill helping her sleep. Sleep came rarely to her nowadays which was probably why she drank a bit too much and a bit too often.

At this point, James said some sort of joke and everyone was laughing. Greta had half a mind to join in but stopped herself when she saw Sirius looking sideways at her from the massive couch they were both sitting on.

The lounge chairs were occupied by Remus and Peter while James occupied the floor for some reason (“It’s a much better view for when those two start snogging! I’ll warn you lot when it happens, don’t worry for a second! I will warn you!”) James slurred his proclamation while Remus, quite embarrassed for the rest of them berated James, “James, we can pretty much see the two from here. And if any snogging happens, the rule applies. We get the hell out of here.”

They talked about Greta and Sirius snogging so nonchalantly that she was starting to believe it was indeed going to happen.

As the night wore on, more bottles littered the glass table and the counter and the floor to James’ dismay. He was running out of space to “guard the snogging teenagers.”

By 2 o’clock in the morning, Peter was passed out near the counter, Remus was asleep in his chair, and James was singing made-up songs that were just gibberish.

“So...why did you come here?” Sirius turned to look at Greta.

Greta wasn’t sure if she was blushing or whatever. Probably whatever. “You invited me, you nitwit.”

“No, but _why_ did you?”

Greta gave a rueful smile and gave him a short summary of what happens during a double downer.

“Wow, that sounds...”

“Boring. I know,” Greta was slowly realizing how uninteresting her life was outside school when Sirius cupped her chin and began to study her.

“What... what are you doing?”

He was silent and turned her head slightly to the sides, somewhat like how Greta’s mom picked out cabbages from the supermarket.

“You look nice when you’re not scowling.”

This time, Greta was sure she was blushing. “Erm - _okay_. Sure.”

He then proceeded to highlight her face slowly with the tip of his thumb, as if he was going to break her if he pressed too hard.

Then out of nowhere, without anything warning, Sirius asked, “Can I kiss you?”

* * *

 

Greta wasn’t sure what happened next.

The shuffling of feet going out the door when James woke the whole neighborhood up with, “It’s happening! They’re snogging! Get up! Snogging! Then you know what’s next! Oy, Peter. Get up!”

Then Greta vaguely remembers Sirius hoisting her up, lips still attached to hers and rushing towards his room (which was massive just like - well, Greta soon found out that Sirius’ room wasn’t the only massive thing he owned).

She remembers the kisses being hurried, quite sloppy and their clothes seemed like they were being taken off by magic. Or Sirius probably ripped hers off and ripped his off and _oh god_ , he was beautiful.

Greta doesn’t remember much, just that, she woke up sore and hungover the next morning with a sleeping Sirius Black beside her.

When it all dawned on her - the night before, the snogging, the shagging - she let out a piercing scream, “ _WHAT THE FUCK!_ ”

  



	2. Or something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are plenty of reasons why Greta Blackburn never sleeps over after a shag.

For starters, no one would really mind waking up in a massive bed with a beautiful boy dead asleep next to them. For starters, no one would really mind recalling that they slept with said beautiful boy the night before.

For starters, Greta Blackburn _isn’t_ everyone.

So when Greta started shrieking and throwing her clothes on as quickly as she can (all while repeatedly shouting, “ _What the fuck_?!”), Sirius Black managed to be fully awake and conscious that he obviously wasn’t getting a good morning kiss.

“What the fuck?!” Greta exclaimed once more while putting on her lounge pants from the night before.

She’d obviously been sloshed but she didn’t realize she would be so sloshed she’d lose her morals and sleep with a certain Sirius Black.

Well, okay, admittedly, she didn’t have much of that moral bullshit to start with but _that_ happened and her only reaction was _what the fuck._

She didn’t even try to hide her disappointment at herself (or something, she’s not too sure how she feels now) but she was pretty sure Sirius was shrinking with every expletive she threw at the corners of the room while she fixed her bun into a bird’s nest.

“Stay a while, doll. What’s got you so worked up?” Sirius looked at her in a pained way, obviously not used to the reaction she was giving him.

“Jesus Christ, what have I done?” Greta ran her hand exasperatedly across her face and clutched her forehead which was now throbbing. _Ugh, stupid girl, never mix drinks._

“We fucked.” Sirius flashed her a grin but his charms weren’t seem to be working at 7 o’clock on this beautiful Saturday morning.

“Jesus Christ.” She plopped down on the edge of the bed in disbelief.

“If you keep saying his name, you might as well summon him back from the dead.”

Greta Blackburn was silent for a few seconds. “Jesus fucking Christ, the devil is alive and well.”

And with that, she put her shoes on and ran away as fast as she could from Sirius Black.

* * *

 

Sunday was no better.

Greta noticed it hurt to sit down on her favourite armchair in the apartment she shared with a very anxious Priscilla Waters.

Priscilla, knowing that Greta was in a fouler mood than usual, retreated to her room to binge-watch whatever was on Netflix and cry at the weight of the world on her shoulders.

Sunday was a vague memory to Greta. She avoided the coffee shop she frequented, knowing full well that a certain Sirius Black could _possibly_ be waiting for her outside with a nice cup of coffee. Because of this move to avoid all things Sirius Black, she had forgone her dose of coffee for the day and was barely able to function.

She had some catching up to do in her Introductory Economics class where she was doing quite poorly possibly because she was also classmates with asshat named Sirius. Or well, not really. She just sucked at graphs.

She slumped deeper into the patchy black leather arm chair. She was well-fucked in the worst way and she had no one else to blame but herself for being visibly fucked and very much confused.

* * *

 

Greta Blackburn never slept over after a one night stand. That just wasn’t her thing. As soon as whatever was done, she’d hastily put her clothes back on, kiss the cheek of whoever it was that time, and rush to the door to get the hell out of whatever shithole they ended up in.

The thing with sleeping over after a shag is that, for Greta, it encourages these loathsome gits to continue fucking selfishly. All, if not most, guys her age fucked selfishly. As soon as they were done, they’d snooze off and forget that she hadn’t come yet or that she wasn’t even remotely satisfied.

So when she found herself out of her comfort zone and still in a strange bed the following morning, of course she panicked.

Maybe she shouldn’t have slept with Sirius in the first place.

Sirius looked somewhere between an angel and an actual god before Greta woke him up with her screams.

But alas, things are the way they are and Greta just didn’t _ever_ sleepover.

* * *

Monday came and there was nothing for Greta to do but to accept her fate.

She went down for some coffee and Sirius wasn’t there waiting for her with a warm cup of coffee.

Greta wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed. Or something. Who cares, anyway?

Her classes seemed to be an inconvenient blur. She wasn’t even able to keep track if she sat on star seats in her best classes.

But of course, this train wreck wouldn’t be as devastating if it weren’t being manned or manhandled (take your pick) by Sirius Black.

At lunch break, her only respite in today’s hellhole of a day, Lacie Parker stops mid-sentence.

“You know, Greta, there’s this theory that if you’re pretty enough, you get things for free. It’s called -” Sentence. Stop.

“The Halo effect. Hi, I’m Sirius.” Rude. Just absolutely rude.

Lacie doesn’t know how she’ll approach the current situation - Greta was obviously fuming and ready to punch whoever was in her line of sight, the unfortunate bloke was this Sirius fellow who was definitely too pretty to be punched.

“Do tell me more about the Halo effect, Lacie.” Greta resolved to just ignore the minor inconvenience in front of her.

“Beautiful people get things more easily in life. That’s the Halo effect,” Remus appears out of nowhere and Lacie blushes at the sight of the lanky teenager in an oversized jumper.

Sirius stops Remus’ interjection with his raised index finger, “No, no, no. If say, one beautiful person, such as I, can get the best impressions from people because I’m _extremely_ handsome, intelligent, and devilishly attractive, how come Greta hasn’t called back after Friday night? You see, your Halo effect has some flaws.”

Greta stops chewing her sandwich. Enraged that Sirius had the gall to start speaking to her after what happened. (Why was she still riled up because of this? She was usually over these things in a heartbeat.)

“Poor you. I didn’t get your number for this very reason. Stop talking.”

Sirius, as chipper as ever, pulled out a marker from his backpack, grabbed Greta’s hand and started writing what seemed to be his mobile number on the palm of her hand.

“Call me.”

Then he sauntered off with his three stupid friends who were half-cheering for him, half-afraid for him.

Sirius didn’t really care. He just wanted a chance to touch her hand again.

* * *

 

“She, by far, had the worst reaction ever. I mean, James, is my morning breath _that_ bad?”

It wasn’t long before James, Peter, and Remus figured that Friday night went _down south_ (this proclamation of course, merited some unsolicited snickers from James.)

“Look here, Sirius, you’re a good lad but you’ve got to know when to stop.” Remus, ever the wise one, weighed in the discussion.

“She didn’t tell me to stop last Friday night.” At that, Sirius started high-fiving Peter and James and beamed at Remus.

“Ah, so she’s another conquest?”

Sirius stops high-fiving Peter mid-air and Peter misses, much to his embarrassment.

To be honest, Sirius wasn’t sure what he wanted from Greta Blackburn. She was breathtaking, smart, and she could spar with him with that sour mood of hers. He finds it cute how easily she gets annoyed at him. Although, he thinks he should start getting worried that she didn’t elicit the usual reaction of the stalker-y, swoon-y post-coitus doe eyes he gets from the girls he snags and shags.

To be honest, Sirius thinks there’s _something_ quite different about Greta. He could see her walls are as high as he was last Saturday night. (He needed to mend his wounded ego and James brought just the right thing.) It didn’t help that for the first time, Sirius actually treated a girl on his bed like more than just a snag. Yes, he did shag her (Sirius smiles at the thought of how the light touched her face when she was on top of him) but he found himself giving her butterfly kisses and brushing the hair from her face because her bun came undone after round three or something.

“No. There’s something more to her. I’d like to find out what that is.”

No one was sure who was shocked more. Sirius, for even saying it out loud, or James who thought this day would never come or Remus who knew it all along or Peter, who still was sore from Sirius rejecting his high-five for a _girl._

* * *

 

“Coffee. Yours.”

Sirius was beaming when he handed Greta the piping hot coffee. _Thank god he didn’t forget to get the sleeve for the cup._

Greta, still half-asleep, replied, “Mine. Thanks.”

They walked to class in silence for most of the trip.

Before they reached the last block, Sirius stops walking. “Hey, Greta?”

She wasn’t sure what he’d want at 8 o’clock in the morning but she decides to humour him. “What is it, Lucifer?”

He leans his head back and barks a laugh, giving Greta a clear view of his Bernini-esque jawline.

“Did I do something? Last Friday? You didn’t call. So I guess I’m sorry?”

He was now in front of her and clutching her shoulders so she’d look at him.

Greta just kept looking at the pavement.

“I mean, if you didn’t like it, it won’t happen ever again. I promise.”

Greta’s heart dropped. She was sure she _might_ want it to happen again. Or something. She was also still annoyed that after five minutes of scrubbing, Sirius’ number still didn’t come off her palm.

She was just confused that her heart was starting the speed up whenever he touched her and sweet baby Jesus, that only happens in movies, right?

“I just don’t sleepover after. I won’t sleepover next time.”

She didn’t stop to see Sirius’ reaction, she just power walked to their classroom, mentally hitting herself with her mental hand for what she just said.

 _Next time?_ She’d be lucky if there was even a next time.

* * *

 

Priscilla Waters was in a drug-induced sleep when Greta arrived back in the their apartment.

Resolving to get back on track, Greta took a shower, microwaved her dinner, and plopped down on the living room floor to study for her dreadful Introductory Economics class which was getting more and more challenging with each passing meeting.

“So, if GDP is made up of - of, erm, C which is private consumption and G which is government spending and _oh dear_ , this is just simple addition in such a simple equation, stupid girl.” Greta mutters angrily to herself then runs her hand exasperatedly across her face.

Then it hits her. Well, not really but something in her mind dinged.

Sirius’ number was still on her hand.

Was she going to stoop that low to get good grades?

 _Hell yes_.

She gets her mobile phone, looks at her palm, and starts dialing.

* * *

 

Greta ends up on Sirius’ doorstep with a box of doughnuts and a backpack full of notes and Economics books.

 _I’m here_ , she texts Sirius.

In no time, Sirius is bounding towards the door and welcomes Greta with, “Couldn’t resist the temptation of another go at it, doll?”

Greta pushes past him and plops the box of doughnuts on the counter. “Shut up and help me pass this fucking class.”

Sirius takes a seat beside her on the counter. “Sure, doll. Which part of this perfectly easy lesson is giving you heartache?”

Greta rolls her eyes. She knew that this was going to be one long evening.

* * *

 

“You know, original glazed doughnuts should be mandated as the only doughnuts that should be for consumption.”

Greta gives a pained look at Sirius’ direction. “Why are you talking nonsense?”

“I mean, it’s simple, straight-forward. A doughnut. The doughnut of all doughnuts.”

She had no answer so she just rolls her eyes, thinks of all the rebuttals she could have given - how doughnuts were supposed to have endless possibilities of flavour, how original glazed doughnuts were as vanilla as missionary position sex, the whole lot of witty counterarguments she had under her belt but was too tired to even argue.

“Something’s wrong.”

Sirius stops chewing his doughnut, puts it back in the box, and licks the glaze off his fingers. Greta tries not to stare because yes, something is wrong.

“Tell me.”

She avoids his gaze and starts picking at the threads of her loose sweater.

“Greta. You’re not telling me something and as adorable as you look avoiding me, you better spit it out...or swallow.” Another toothy grin. _Punch him_ , a voice in her head tells her.

It was unnerving how, in the short span of time they’ve known each other, he had the gall to overstep and ask her if something was wrong. Greta scoffs unconsciously and stops herself from emitting any other response.

“You - you are...just _you._ ”

She wanted to slap some words back into her brain but at that point, she was emotionally tired and possibly very unsettled.

“You mean Sirius Black is devilishly charming and you can’t think straight because I’m slowly, slowly inching towards you?”

And he was. Both. Unbelievably good-looking, charming to the point Greta wants to wipe that cheeky grin off his face, and god damn it, why was he closing in on her?

Greta could feel the rise and fall of her chest quickly become erratic and _oh god,_ is that her heartbeat?

“ _Sirius._ ”

It was something in between a warning and a plea.

“Yes, doll?”

His lips were dangerously close to her ear as he lingered.

“You were saying something?” His breath tickled her cheek, where he now placed his attention.

Something short-circuited in Greta’s head and the next thing she remembers, she straddling Sirius, kissing him angrily or something and it was breathtaking. Literally.

“Fuck. What am I doing?” She whispers against Sirius’ mouth so he drowns her indecision with his lips and his tongue.

“What you want to do.”

And he was right. She’d wanted to do this for a very long time.

  
  
  
  
  



	3. Or not

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are many mistakes that Greta Blackburn can't avoid. Possibly, most of them involve Sirius Black.

Greta Blackburn has a tragic habit of making mistakes.

Here she was, naked, beside some guy. Some guy who was _way_ out of her league (or not, she doesn’t think like that, she _thinks_ ).

It was well past midnight and what was supposed to be a study session turned out to be the two of them naked on a huge bed doing what two naked people do.

“Doll, stay a while.”

Sirius Black reaches out to her to stop her from getting up. She was really getting up because Greta Blackburn _never_ sleeps over even if there was a part of her that was desperate enough to want to wake up beside Sirius Black.

But Greta knows that whether or not she stayed, she won’t be able to sleep tonight. Or ever.

The thing with Sirius Black is that you just don’t forget him.

He rampages his way into your life, messes shit up, and gets away with it. Because he can. But Greta wasn’t going to let him do that so easily.

Perhaps, she was determined to fight her way from his intoxicating touch. Or not. Not really.

It was just cold and his hands and his body were warm and her sweater ended up on the floor so _obviously,_ something had to be done about that.

“Greta, stay.”

Sirius’ voice was pleading. A first of sorts, like he had some vulnerability in him and it involved her.

“Sirius, I don’t - I don’t stay...”

Confusion masks his face with a mixture of disappointment and determination.

“Let’s change that.”

He pulls her back to the bed and locks her in his warm embrace.

Gross, Greta thinks as she lets sleep claim her, a rare occurrence.

It was...different.

 _Whatever,_ it’s still gross, Greta thinks to herself.

* * *

 

Mistakes come in many forms.

They come in double downers or avoiding coffee shops like the plague or waking up beside Sirius who was apparently, watching her sleep.

“Stalker alert!”

Greta woke with a start because she was again on his bed, visibly fucked, and the only difference now was that he took a liking in watching her unconscious state breathe and let out dragon breath with every exhale.

“Your breath stinks.”

Ah, there it was. Her worst fear was verbalized right there and then. This was _partly_ one of the reasons why she didn’t sleepover. Ever.

Embarrassed, the only retort Greta could come up with was, “Your face stinks.” And buries her head under the covers.

“It’s eight thirty,” Sirius calmly states after looking at his phone for the time.

“WHAT? We’re fucking late for class!”

Panic. Panic from head to toe. Greta was never late nor did she miss her classes, ever.

She gets up from bed only to be tackled back to where she was lying down beside Sirius a couple of minutes ago.

“Doll, there’s nothing we can do. We’re late.”

“Your face is late. You should have woken me up! Jesus Christ, what am I going to do now?” Panic settles back in. Whatever last night was, it was definitely a mistake and Greta was paying for it dearly now.

“Stay,” Sirius puts a smile on. The kind that is infuriating because he doesn’t see how grave the situation is.

“Jesus Christ, Sirius. Just let me go to class,” Greta tries to wrestle her way out of his grip. But alas, he was a bit too strong for her liking. _Those arms are just… no, focus, stupid girl._

As in all things, Sirius Black can’t and won’t listen.

“Greta, _stay,_ ” he repeats with more determination this time.

“And what do you want me to do when I stay?” Greta snaps.

Sirius flashes a smug grin, “I have a couple of ideas.”

* * *

 

With much determination, Greta was able to convince Sirius to drop her off at her apartment so she could get dressed and well, fix her entire being.

Sirius, always one step ahead, had already showered, gotten dressed, and had already pulled over his car in front of his flat where Greta was waiting impatiently.

“What took you so long?”

Sirius shrugs, “I was a bit occupied.”

“Occupied? With what?”

“I have been, ah, reminiscing the events of this morning.”

Greta tries not to blush and miserably fails at it.

“Sirius.” She says almost menacingly. “Just drive.”

* * *

 

They arrive in the quad just in time for the noon break bell to ring.

There’s nothing more shocking than the events that ensue.

First, Sirius and Greta are standing beside each other in complete peace, no head-biting, with Sirius holding Greta’s hand and beaming.

Second, James going, “Oh ho ho, what is this? I must be dreaming.” “Shut up, James,” and “Do I make wedding arrangements? How about October?”

“Shut up, Peter.”

“This...this is incredible.”

“We know, James. We know. We’re not blind.”

And third, “You owe me an explanation, Greta Blackburn. Also, can I be a bridesmaid?” Lacie Parker joins in.

Then chaos.

“Holy fuck, this is a first. I need to document this on social media.”

“Shut up, James.”

“He’s right, you know. Wait, let me get my phone out.”

“Peter! You’re not helping.”

“What? Remus, aren’t you happy for them?”

“Of course. Although, I’m not the one shitting my pants off at the thought that Sirius has...well, what is this, Sirius?”

Then silence.

All eyes turn toward Sirius and Greta, who seemed to look more and more uncomfortable by the minute and now, possibly pissed. Sirius, on the other hand, is unfazed.

“It’s what you think it is,” he flashes a smile towards Greta’s direction and maybe, just _maybe,_ Greta gives the smallest of smiles in response. A smile, nonetheless. A first of sorts.

“So when’s the wedding?” James says before Remus smacks him at the back of his head.

* * *

 

Greta has a knack for not knowing a mistake when she’s in one.

Possibly because for the longest time, she hasn’t felt this content and happy. Or something close to that.

It’s possible that she thinks this is all a dream - that one day, she’ll wake up and it’ll all be just that, just a dream; non-existent when she’s awake.

Greta finds herself fighting the urge to pinch herself. Is _this_ real? What she was fighting also was a barrage of stupid questions like does she deserve this? What does Sirius see in her in the first place? Is it possible for this to happen at all?  

It seemed like it was only yesterday that she was seething when Sirius took a glance at her graphs and now, he was holding her hand like he didn’t have a care in the world. Like... _she_ was his world.

Gross.

And it happens as quickly as the way her heart beats at the moment. Greta smiles. She might possibly be the happiest girl alive.

Quite simply, she plans to keep it that way.

* * *

 

“Flowers? Really, Sirius?”

It was as cliche as it could get. Sirius abandoned his star seat in Introductory Economics class and gallantly presented Greta a bouquet of flowers that looked gorgeous and quite expensive.

Greta wants to stop herself from kissing him then and there so she just stands awkwardly, holding the bouquet like it was a baby that was about to hit the floor.

No one has ever given Greta Blackburn flowers. _Ever._

So this, whatever this is, was monumental. It was like a milestone for Greta’s ladyhood.

She was probably overplaying this in her head.

_It’s just flowers. A bunch of pollinated shit by bees. They’re nothing special, really. Sirius could have just stolen them from some old lady’s garden._

But Greta knows that the flowers meant something more.

It was written on the card.

_Tell me we’ll never get used to this. - Sirius_

* * *

 

Sirius Black has a knack for getting what he wants, when he wants it.

Greta Blackburn was quite the exception.

She didn’t fall at his feet at the mere sight of him. She resisted his devilish charms. _(Who does that?)_ And now, she won’t let him kiss her in public.

“It’s just tacky, Sirius. I just... _don’t._ ”

Sirius tries to mask his disappointment because a part of him wants the world to know that he, Sirius Black, is head over heels for Greta Blackburn. The other part of him just really wants to kiss her all the time.

“Doll, it’s not tacky when it’s with you.”

He sees her fighting a smile and surprisingly, she actually smiles.

Sirius runs a gentle hand across her cheek. “It’s never tacky when it’s with you.”

“It’s still gross,” Greta scrunches her nose up to prove her point.

“Did you like the flowers?” Sirius eyes her expectantly.

“They were alright.”

“Greta.”

“They were nice. I mean, I wouldn’t really know.”

“You wouldn’t know?”

Greta starts fixing her hair nervously and mutters, “Never really got flowers before.”

Sirius grabs her hand and kisses it like an apology or a promise. “Well, you deserve it. Can’t see why no one has seen that before.”

Greta kisses him before he even realizes it.

* * *

Lacie Parker has noticed a significant change in her best friend.

Greta isn’t struggling as much with her economics class. Possibly because she and Sirius have “study sessions” every other day. Lacie also noticed that Greta, by some miracle, is starting to smile more.

Greta used to have this pained expression on her face that made her look like she was withholding a nasty remark or that she was quite simply, suppressing a smile. Either, or, whatever was happening with Greta, she thinks Sirius is doing a good job.

Lacie Parker also noticed that Greta, despite her attachment to Sirius, still spent her lunch breaks with her in the quad. It seemed like everything was normal except that Greta was exponentially happier than she ever was.

Lacie thinks this is a good thing. Greta and Sirius were a good thing. She hopes it stays that way.

* * *

 

Sirius Black, as much as he loves his best friends, thinks they are insufferable at times.

Exhibit A.

“So do you reckon I can be a godfather of you know, your little Black-slash-Blackburn children?”

“Isn’t it quite a coincidence that her last name is Blackburn?”

“Sirius, she was born to end you.”

“Thanks for that keen observation, you two.”

“It’s not like she’ll set anything on fire once you fuck up, right, Sirius?”

“Shut up. I’m not gonna fuck up.”

“You said that last time.”

“How can we forget last time?”

“Can we forget last time?”

“It was a propacer train-wreck, that was.”

“You can all shut up now.”

Exhibit B.

“She’ll be Greta Blackburn Black, right? It has a charming ring to it.”

“Will you quit it, Peter?”

“Even if she’s with Sirius, she’s as feisty as ever. I think I approve of her, Sirius. What do you think?”

“James, he’s dating her. Of course he approves.”

“No need to be hurtful, Remus.”

“Can you all just slow down? I live in the moment. Stop with the wedding and the future Black babies nonsense. That’s not gonna happen...yet. You’ll be groomsmen, of course. I’ve always wanted a bachelor party.”

Laughter ensues. They all might just believe that the present was going to be as sweet as the future. Sirius hopes they’re right to think that.

* * *

 

Greta doesn’t think about mistakes lately.

She seems to be floating wonderfully through her classes. She’s always in a star seat, she aces her recitations and her quizzes. With exams slowly coming around the corner, she was determined to not just pass but rise above the rest with her marks.

So she revises and makes summaries and lists of all the things she needs for her classes. It’s a bit too early since exams are a month and half away but Greta Blackburn never leaves her good marks to just luck or procrastination.

But tonight, she’s in the mood to go to Sirius’ flat and just watch some stupid slasher film that would make her feel so much better with the mere fact that she wasn’t as stupid as the people who die in the films.

_Going to your place in a bit. Xx_

_Sure, doll. What do you have in mind?_

_Something to do with clothes on._

_Dry humping? Knew it._

_Shut up, Sirius._

They end up heating leftover pizza from two days ago and watching one of the installments of Scream.

“Ah, damn! She could have gotten out of the car and killed Ghostface minutes ago!”

“These people are so stupid, it’s a miracle they’re alive and breathing at this point in the movie. I reckon they should all be dead at the rate of stupidity they’ve shown.”

“Look at you, ever the optimist.”

“I say it as it is, Sirius.”

“I know. That’s one of the things I like about you.”

Greta stops chewing her slice of pizza. Come to think about it, they’ve never told each other exactly why they liked each other. Greta was about to leave it up to mystery but a big part of her was honestly curious why Sirius puts up with her.

“Lucky you, I’m not as stupid as the people in the movie.”

“Why is that?” Sirius looks at her and brushes a stray hair from her face.

“I would have liked you the first time I saw you.”

* * *

 

Greta doesn’t know if it’s time to run away.

She’s used to that but the way Sirius makes her feel, she thinks she’s just not ready to let go yet.

Sirius’ phone rings.

“Hold on, doll. I need to get this.”

He goes to the kitchen to talk to whoever was on the line.

“Speak slowly, James. I can’t understand you.”

A pause.

“What? You’ve got to be joking.”

Another pause.

“Holy shit. She’s back.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Richard Siken's Scheherazade for the little quote.


	4. Could be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When it's wolfing season, Greta Blackburn thinks she has more than enough to worry about. Things just couldn't get any worse, right?

Greta Blackburn was never one to dabble with patience.

She was waiting in line for some lobster mac and cheese for a good five minutes and she just wasn’t having it.

It was wolf time, the time wherein for five to seven consecutive moons, she changed into a needy, emotional train-wreck that wasn’t even the slightest bit inclined to wait for five fucking minutes for a bowl of fucking lobster mac and cheese.

Five minutes turned into ten and Greta was ready to slit somebody’s throat and break some necks in sheer frustration.

“Why the _fuck_ is it taking so _long_?” Greta mutters under her breath quite loudly, just enough for the person at the till to hear and note her wrath.

The poor girl ducks her head in what could be fear and focuses intently in wrapping the current customer’s huge order of what could be five massive containers of lobster mac and cheese. Greta would know, that was the only thing they served at that miserable restaurant. Miserable, yes, but very capable to produce the city’s best mac and cheese.

“I should have just gotten some wretched fish and chips for crying out loud.” Greta doesn’t even mask her impatience and seethes unabashedly in her spot in the queue.

The guy at the till finishes paying his bill and turns around, clutching the big bag of glorious macaroni and cheese with Greta’s favourite crustacean sprinkled generously on it.

“James?”

“Top of the afternoon to you, too, Greta. I knew it was you the minute a storm cloud entered the shop.”

“Funny. What do you need all of that for?”

“Ah,” James adjusts his glasses nervously. “It’s top secret. Secret with a cherry on top. No big deal, really. See you.”

James half-runs, half-gallops out of the shop and Greta curses at herself because she should have just sneaked in line and ordered along with James but alas, she can’t recognize the back of people’s heads to save her life.

* * *

 

Greta plops on her favourite battered leather black armchair in the apartment in a state a bit less in Hulk-mode but in Hulk-mode nonetheless.

She remembers James and his big bag of mac and cheese and all she says is, “Damn it, James.” As well as, “Boys and their appetites,” then clucks her tongue in annoyance.

She was about to take her first bite of her steaming hot food when someone knocks on the door.

“What on fucking earth do you want?” Greta stomps to the door and struggles to open it because she was seeing red already.

“Whoah there, doll.”

Sirius was standing on her doorstep with James in tow.

“What do you _want_ , Sirius?” She barely acknowledges James since she was still sore from the events that transpired earlier concerning food, glorious food.

“You might want to hold your jaw before it drops,” Sirius says proudly as James steps forward with a big bag of what it seems to be lobster mac and cheese, beaming victoriously. Five containers of it.

Greta really tries to make sure her jaw doesn’t drop. Half of her is delighted and half of her is pissed that she had to wait a total of _fifteen_ minutes in a stupid shop to get her stupid lobster mac and cheese.

“Dear god. You sly bastards.” She opens the door to finally let them in.

“It was all Sirius’ idea, really. He said you kept hammering about wanting to eat mac and cheese that had lobster in it - _a bit curious, isn’t it, Sirius?_ \- so he _volunteered_ me to fetch the goods and now, we bring them to you, lady of Sirius’ life.”

Greta notes the slight resentment in James’ voice but lets it slide because James Potter doesn’t really get angry. Unless you put red ants in his pants or force him to buy someone else’s food.

“If that’s the case, thank you, James.” She awkwardly pats James on the shoulder as some sort of apology and thanks for his kindness.

“Hey! It was my idea!” Sirius interjects, noting that Greta was still in shock and uncharacteristically being extra nice to James.

“Sure. This is lovely. Thanks for the thought that James carried out, Sirius.”

“See, this is why _we_ like her. She calls you out on your bullshit, Sirius. I mean, really, we’re your _friends_ , not your errand boys. Remember when Peter had to steal those flowers?”

Sirius shrinks as Greta smacks his shoulder.

“I knew it! Those flowers were not to be trusted. I knew it from the start,” Greta tries to save her ass because she thought the gesture was something like a dream come true and that it could have been the most cliche thing to have ever happened to her. But nonetheless, it was a welcome gesture albeit an apparently _stolen_ sweet gesture.

“Can we all put aside our animosities now and eat our bloody mac and cheese with lobster in it, extra cheddar, _mind you_ , in peace?” Sirius says in a resigned manner. His secret was out. It wasn’t like he forced his friends to help, they volunteered... with a little encouragement coming from him, of course.

“Alright, alright. Let’s eat before Greta bites our heads off. But knowing you, Sirius, you probably like biters.”

Greta glowers at James mockingly. Sirius, on the other hand, predictably laughs it off.

“The food is getting cold,” Sirius reminds the two.

This could be one of the nicest things someone has done for her. Greta was grateful for not only Sirius, but also to his friends who have been nothing but supportive to whatever was going on between her and Sirius.

With a total of six containers of food and the company of Sirius and James, Greta thinks absolutely nothing could go wrong.

It could just be the scenario. _Could be_ , with a disclaimer attached to it.

Whatever the disclaimer is, Greta doesn’t really care right now. Or ever.

* * *

 

That week, Sirius showers Greta with mac and cheese, doughnuts, and stolen flowers from a poor old lady’s garden.

Greta, not knowing any better and too proud to even start overthinking it, gladly accepts whatever Sirius sends her way.

Possibly, it was his way to placate her during wolf time or _maybe_ he wasn’t telling her something that he should be telling her.

This thought, however, escapes Greta’s memory as Sirius presents her with a ramen burrito.

“This looks gross, Sirius. Curiously gross but thanks.” Greta gladly accepts the weird gastronomic creation.

She had nothing else to do, anyway. Sirius would have insisted her to accept it regardless of how curious his choice of offering was.

Greta doesn’t notice James, Remus, and Peter smiling forcibly at a distance, like they knew something she didn’t. It could just be related to something that involved a phone call Sirius received a week ago. It could also just be Greta’s brain short-circuiting because of some unbalanced hormones but again, she lets it slide, whatever it is.

It was wolf time and as much as Greta hates wolf time, Sirius was making it bearable for her. She was well-fed, content, and very quickly falling head over heels for none other than Sirius Black.

* * *

 

“So when are you going to tell her?”

“Tell her what?

“Why you’re doing all of this?”

“Why is he doing it, anyway?”

“Peter, keep up. You-know-who is in town.”

“His mother?”

“No, you ninny. You-know-who.”

“Oh, I get it! Alanna? I see, Alanna Leithold is who we’re talking about.”

“For the love of god, Peter. Shut up for once. You’re not helping by saying you-know-who’s name.”

“I didn’t know Alanna Leithold still meant anything to you, Sirius.”

Sirius blows a resigned breath in frustration.

“This is bad, lads.”

“We knew that the minute we heard she was in town,” Remus says in a masked condescending tone. He was right, though. The three of them (well, mostly him and James for the most part), started to run around in circles in anticipation of the shitstorm that was about to land on them.

“Why is she here, anyway?” Sirius takes a seat in one of the benches in the quad, weighed down by everything that was happening.

It was almost five o’clock in the afternoon and most of the students had filed out of campus to study for their upcoming exams.

“Who knows? Witches just come unannounced.”

“She was a proper witch, that one was.”

“Thank you for keeping up, Peter. It’s about time.”

“You’re very welcome, Remus.”

“I said that sarcastically. You know what, nevermind. Good job, Peter.”

“Some reports say she has a modeling gig somewhere up in the city. Some posh couture brand like Old Navy, by the looks of it. How can people even work with that - that - _witch_ ,” James says matter-of-factly and quite seriously. It was a rare thing - a sign that whatever predicament Sirius was in, he was about to get run over by a truck full of frozen lobsters as karma for what he was doing to Greta. Quite possibly, because he was buying her trust.

“So what’s your plan, Sirius? This isn’t fair to Greta. None of it is,” Remus stirs the conversation to the important bit that Sirius was avoiding.

“I just...don’t want to fuck it up this time.” Sirius’ face was clouded by obvious worry. He had no escape. Alanna Leithold, the wicked witch of the whole universe, could possibly waltz back into his life and ruin every good thing he had with her poisonous touch.

Peter gives a low whistle. “It’s a funny thing, isn’t it?”

“What is?” James peers at Sirius from his now fogged-up glasses.

“She seemed so nice, quite an angel, and she seemed to be so good for you, Sirius. Then well, her true colours just blasted out of nowhere. She was a siren, you know. Lovely and all, but her words were poison, deadly as soon as they were spoken.”

“Just the poet of the hour, young Peter Pettigrew is,” James replies.

“Can we all just talk about something else?” Sirius was looking more and more dejected with each passing minute, letting another worried huff into the air.

“Greta must never, ever, cross paths with you-know-who. Actually, Greta and Sirius must never _ever_ be in the same room as you-know-who. Who knows what unspeakable curses she has up her sleeve this time?”

“We must protect Greta at all costs,” Remus tries to wrap up the conversation for Sirius’ sake. It was painful discussing the dark times of the past. They were all about to be run over by the witch’s house when it dropped from nowhere and they were defenseless, completely unarmed.

“Actually,” James starts to get up from the bench to look at Sirius in the eye, “We must protect Greta from Sirius and you-know-who. That’s the wisest thing to do.”

“Thanks for the trust, you lot.”

“He’s just saying it as it is, Sirius. Remember what happened last time?”

“You can quit it now, Peter. No one can ever forget last time.”

Peter gives Sirius a meaningful concerned double pat on his back. _“Exactly.”_

* * *

 

Lacie Parker sits herself in their usual table, the one under the shade of the century-old sycamore tree, reading some on her phone and chokes on her taco.

“Oh, this is bad. This is _very_ bad,” she starts to pack her things, about to run to the rendezvous place when Greta arrives with a tray full of fish and chips.

“What is?”

Lacie tucks her hair behind her ears innocently. “Oh, nothing. I just forgot one of my notebooks in the Biology classroom.”

“Oh, okay.” Greta starts digging in on the delicious lunch in front of her. “Where’s the nasty group of blokes anyway?”

“Ahoy, Greta! Do you mind?” James appears out of nowhere and sits down beside her, tucking one piece of sinfully fried fish into his mouth before she could even allow him to take a portion of her food.

Before she could even tell James off, the boys start filing to their table one by one in what looked like a solemn procession.

“Is something wrong?”

Sirius’ head perks up from where it was hanging (in thought of how to evade a particular witch, probably) and quickly replies, “Nothing, nothing. Everything's just dandy, isn’t it, doll?”

Greta looks at everyone in confusion - their faces showed a mixture of feigned innocence and obvious worry. At least, just in Peter’s case. Remus looked calm and collected while James looked like he was about to vomit slugs.

Greta pauses for a bit to study their faces again. “If you say so.”

Sirius tries to break the awkwardness hovering among them. “So what mischief are we up to today, lads?”

“Witch hunting!” Peter rises from his seat and exclaims.

Not long after that, Remus pulls Peter back into his seat and whispers something angrily to his ear.

“I didn’t mean what I said, by the way. There are no witches in the area. None at all.” Peter counteracts his stupid exclamation very clumsily.

After a week of blindly missing the signs, Greta finally understands.

“Tell me what’s going on or I swear, I will burn you all alive.” She glares at all of them threateningly and as always, they all believe that she was quite capable of bringing her words into fruition.

“Ah. Um. It’s about -,” James was the bravest to start but obviously fails to find words to explain the whatsits and whys. He looks at Remus for help.

Remus pauses and fixes his overworn jacket. “Well. You see. It’s about... well, Peter, since you started this, you better explain to it all to dear Greta.”

Peter clears his throat, looks at Sirius for approval, to which Sirius gives a small nod towards his direction and looks down at the pavement. “You-know-who is in town.”

“ _Brilliant,_ Peter. As if I know what the bloody hell you’re talking about.” Greta wasn’t one for stretched-out pauses or cryptic glances that was exchanged among the people present at the table nor was she a fan of Sirius’ silence. Something wasn’t right.

“She’s back, Greta. The witch. Alanna Leithold is back from the dead.”

Greta could have just blocked whatever Peter said the minute he said it. But she didn’t. She immediately looked at Sirius who was wincing as if someone had punched his gut the minute Alanna Leithold’s name was mentioned.

More importantly, who the fuck was Alanna Leithold and why is everyone afraid of her? Did she suck people’s souls out or something?

For the first time that week, Greta Blackburn finally emerged from the trance Sirius put her in.

It was all a matter of saving herself before shit collapsed from the roof. But it could be that Greta was in denial that the dream she was in was about to turn into a nightmare.

Greta pushes the tray of the now cold fish and chips away from her.

“Thanks for the honesty, Sirius.”

He refuses to look up from where his eyes were plastered on the boring pavement.

“Your friends saved your ass...again. Were you even going to tell me?”

Greta gave her tray of food one final push before collecting her things and marching off to her apartment, calling it a day.

The earlier events left her as if all happiness was sucked from her. For the first time in forever, Greta Blackburn felt like she was about to cry. And for the first time, she could be crying over the fact that she was so stupid to even notice that shit was about to go down without her having a say in it.

Greta, quite frankly, could be scared for the first time in a very long time.

  


**Author's Note:**

> That's about it!  
> Do let me know how you found it, I'd love to hear from you! 
> 
> Olivia


End file.
